


Edward Elric: Poet Laureate of Resembool? (Or, What Happens When You Steal Al's Book)

by Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bad Poetry, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Post-Promised Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains/pseuds/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains
Summary: “Oh, just out of curiosity,” Al remarked, “What are you working on?”Ed’s eyes bulged a bit out of his skull, and he found himself examining the floor with a look of horror for several moments (very guilty-looking moments, it should be added).~~~~~Al's dismayed by the disappearance of one of his books.  But where can it have gone?  Ed wouldn't happen to know, would he?!  Aka, the one where Ed tries to write bad love poetry for Winry instead of just talking to her, and Al is concerned.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	1. Whoever Cares to Hunt

Al blinked, the beginning of a frown spreading over his face.He tilted his head to the side, as if a different angle would somehow change what he was seeing.It failed to do so.The gap on his book shelf remained the same.Moments earlier, he had reached out to retrieve one _Collected Aerugonian Verse,_ and found that it was no longer present.

Scratching his head, he turned around to survey his room, his eyes wandering over it in search of the missing text. _Did I leave it out the last time I was reading it?I suppose it’s possible . . ._ His eyes failed to find the book in question.Shrugging to himself, he set about conducting a physical scouring.Fifteen minutes later, however, the room had been combed like a well-groomed head of hair, and the volume was still absent.Al’s frown had now come into its own, as it were.He wasn’t the type of person who lost things, at least, not frequently.And certainly not something as large as the book in question.He considered his options. _I guess I could go ask brother, he might have seen it.I doubt it, but it’s worth a shot . . ._

~~~~~

Ed glared at the paper beneath his pencil, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the lines he had written, as if he could ensure their quality through sheer visual threat alone.So far, scaring words into submission had been an exercise in abject futility.

Dropping his pencil back to the desk, he raised the paper from the desktop and began to read it softly to himself.“If thou wish to fight, I know where there is a war.But as for this man, I cannot fight again.The battle has left me with a different wound friend.I myself have fallen fast behind the warrior’s lot.Now, feebly at the aching in my heart, I blot—“ (1)

Abruptly, Ed cut his reading short and tossed the paper back onto the desk, his teeth gritting into a scowl.“Dammit,” he muttered.“Why is this so hard?”

He glanced back over toward the volume which he was using as a guide (well, perhaps ‘instruction manual’ was a more accurate term).Grabbing it off the desk, he pulled it into his lap and scanned his eyes over the open page, taking in the poem which he was attempting to emulate.His lips moved quietly as he began to recite to himself.“Whoso list to—“(2)

A voice interrupted him before he could go any further.“Hey brother, are you busy?”

Ed spun about, nearly rotating his entire chair along with him, while simultaneously slamming shut the book and attempting to hide _Collected Aerugonian Verse_ with his body.Al was framed in the doorway, looking at him curiously.“H-hey Al,” Ed greeted his brother shakily, a bit of a flush creeping into his cheeks. _Come on!_ He berated himself mentally. _That’s a dead giveaway that something’s up!Get it together!_ “Not at all,” he continued, bringing his voice under control.“What’s up?”

Al didn’t look altogether convinced by this response, but he refrained from commenting on it directing.He regarded his brother with a skeptical gaze for a second or two, but then relaxed, and began to speak again.“Well brother, I’m actually looking for one of my books, and I was wondering if you might have seen it.”

Ed blinked, doing his absolute best to adopt what he hoped could pass as an air of innocent.“One of your books?”He asked innocuously.“Which one?”

“ _Collected Aerugonian Verse_ ,” Al replied helpfully.“It’s an anthology of poetry I bought the last time we were in Central.”He held out his hands, imitating a shape in the space before him.“About this big, pretty substantial.Grey cover with blue lettering.Have you seen it?”

Edward Elric was not a terribly good liar.Generally, this was actually something in which he prided himself, believe it or not.The inability to lie convincingly (at least, in any scenario where the stakes weren’t life or death: actual danger tended to made him a much better liar) made it that much easier to avoid situations in which he was required to do so in the first place.Which, all things considered, probably kept him out of at least some trouble (if not all that much).That being said, this was one instance he which he wholeheartedly wished he was a decent liar.Nevertheless, he gave it his best shot.Between putting on what would no doubt be one of the most difficult performances of his career in mendacity, considering Al was quite accomplished when it came to deciphering his brother, and risking what he could view as nothing less than overwhelming embarrassment (a definite exaggeration, but this was Edward Elric, and drama was a specialty of his), Ed chose the performance route.

Willing his face to go as blank and neutral as it possible could (a failed endeavor, all things considered, since it looked more like he was unwillingly contorting it into vacancy, which really, he was), Ed replied nonchalantly, “No, can’t say that I have.Sorry Al.”

Al shook his head, appearing rather disappointed.“Huh,” he mused, running a hand through his hair.“Guess I’ll check with Granny.Thanks anyway though brother.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Ed responded.As Al turned to leave, Ed all but collapsed in his chair, his shoulders sagging in relief. _Mission accomplished.I live to fight another day.Victory is mine.Whew._ He sighed gently.

Without warning, Al revolved back around.“Oh, just out of curiosity,” he remarked, “What are you working on?”

Ed’s eyes bulged a bit out of his skull, and he found himself examining the floor with a visage of horror for several moments (very guilty-looking moments, it should be added), before he reined himself in enough to look back to his brother.By then, of course, the damage to the ruse was already done.

“Oh, just some, some journaling.I was thinking of writing a . . . memoir.About our time in East City,” Ed explained, lying through his teeth.For something he had made up on the spot, he didn’t even think the explanation was that bad.Then again, it wasn’t that good either. _There’s no way he’s going to buy that.No way._

Miraculously, Al seemed to accept it without question.“Wow, that actually sounds pretty cool,” he commented warmly, his face breaking into a smile.

“Yeah, I thought it would be a fun project, you know?”Ed replied, itching the back of his neck absentmindedly.“Lots of interesting memories and all that.”

“Wow brother, since when did you get nostalgic?”Al inquired, just a hint of wit in his grin.

“Hey now,” Ed hastily replied, “I wouldn’t go that far!It’s just a little thing for my free time.It’s whatever.”He shrugged casually.

“Well, can I see some of it?”Al asked pointedly.

Ed chuckled (mainly to cover his nerves at this point).“I mean, it’s kind of a mess right now.But once it’s more ‘finished,’ sure.You can even proof read it for me if you want,” he added, grinning playfully (or trying to, anyway).

“Sounds like a plan brother,” Al agreed.A thoughtful expression crossed his face.“Well,” he continued, “I should probably go check with Granny about the book.”

“Good luck,” Ed said with a nod.

“Thanks,” Al responded, before departing once more.

Ed turned back to the desk, breathing out a deeper sigh of relief than the earlier one. _That was close._

~~~~~

Al slipped into the room quietly.His brother was downstairs for the moment, eating a late lunch, which meant he probably had a decent amount of time, but he still wanted to be quick.It wouldn’t do for him to be missed for too long.That might arouse Ed’s suspicions.

Al of course had been more than a little dubious about his brother’s explanations earlier in the day.Ed wasn’t a great liar with anyone, and he certainly couldn’t get away with blatantly lying to Al.Especially when everything about his demeanor screamed ‘guilty!’It wasn’t hard to tell that Ed was hiding something.What exactly that was, Al intended to find out.Not that he liked to make a habit out of invading his brother’s privacy, but at the same time, he had a nagging suspicion that Ed might have ‘borrowed’ his missing book.Neither Winry nor Granny had any clue whatsoever as to its whereabouts, and Al was under the impression that books didn’t merely hop off the shelf and go for a walk of their own accord.Seemed a bit unlikely.

Of course, Ed borrowing a book of poetry didn’t sound particularly likely either, which confused Al all the more.Nonetheless, his incriminating behavior made him the prime suspect, which was why Al was currently sneaking into his brother’s bedroom to rummage about a bit. _I’m not going to look_ _too_ _thoroughly.I don’t want to turn his room over or anything.That’d be excessive.But just a quick look around should be fine,_ he rationalized to himself.

Ed’s desk seemed like as good a place as any to begin the search.Interestingly, it was now almost entirely bare, aside from small box containing a couple pencils and a small stack of paper, both arranged neatly by each other.Al furrowed his brow as he flipped through the stack, finding all the pages entirely blank. _Brother’s not a slob or anything, but he’s not this neat either._ _And this desk was a mess when I came in this morning._ _Which means he intentionally stashed all the papers he had spread out over it somewhere else._ _Not to mention he was writing something earlier._ _So why hide what he was writing, if it was really just something like a memoir of our time in East City?_ I don't think there's anything there _that he’d really be worried about anyone else seeing._ _Which means . . . this is something else._

Al glanced around the room, scrutinizing its contents. _Where would brother hide a bunch of papers?And possible a book . . ._ Al blinked as his eyes fell on the small shelf above the bed.One portion of it was occupied by a row of books, a book-end holding them up. By itself, this wasn’t all that unusual.Ed read a fair amount in his free time (though probably not as much as Al, and not nearly as wide of a variety: while Al would read just about anything, Ed preferred scientific or alchemical texts).What was unusual, however, was that one of these books was reversed, so that the spine couldn’t be read by an observer.Equally strange was the fact that the volume directly beside this one seemed to have a number of pages sticking out from the top of it.Al couldn’t help but roll his eyes. _Really brother?That’s your idea of hiding something?That practically draws attention to it._

Climbing carefully onto the edge of Ed’s bed, Al reached out and retrieved the reversed volume.Examining it, he found that it was of course _Collected Aerugonian Verse._ Al shook his head slightly as he slipped off the bed, turning the book over in his hands. _Well, that answers one question . . . but what it doesn’t answer is ‘why?’_ Al’s eyes roamed back up toward the book which looked like it had a few too many pages.

_I really shouldn’t . . . I really shouldn’t_ _. . . But . . ._

Moments later, he was back up on the bed, reaching for the other book. 

Al was not quite prepared for what he found.It took a good deal of self-control for him not to laugh out loud.He decided it might be a good idea to give his brother some advice, because he was rather concerned as to what might happen if he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The bit of poetry Ed reads at this point is based to some extent on "Whoso List to Hunt" by Thomas Wyatt. I figured it made some sense to base Aerugonian poetry (which Ed is ripping off here) on the Petrarchan sonnet form, since I've often seen Aerugo described as an analog to Italy.
> 
> Also, the actual poem Ed is writing is intentionally not an actual sonnet, since the point is that Ed is bad at writing poetry. xD
> 
> Not to mention he may have misinterpreted what the original poem is about, since he thinks it's actually romantic . . . *facepalm*
> 
> 2) And here's an actual excerpt from the same poem. Lol


	2. Love Harbors In My Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al 'confronts' Ed over the 'borrowing' of his book, as well as certain other . . . discoveries. A lively discussion follows (that's one word for it, anyway).

Edward was still seated at the table, polishing off what remained of his lunch, when Alphonse made his entrance.He was careful to keep the page he bore with him hidden from his brother’s view.Ed nodded in his direction as he entered, and mumbled something that might have been ‘afternoon Al,’ through a mouthful of sandwich.

“So, brother,” Al began as he strolled over into the kitchen.“I was working on something this morning too.”

Ed looked up from his food again, appearing mildly interesting.“What do you mean?”

“Well, your idea to write a memoir about our time in East City inspired me,” Al revealed as he poured himself a glass of water, doing his best to keep the smirk off his face.

“Oh, that’s great,” Ed responded, sounding just a tad bit more sheepish than he probably should have.

“Want to hear an excerpt?”Al asked, raising his acquired page, which he had covertly rested on the counter by him when Ed was distracted.

“Yeah, sure,” Ed consented, finishing the last bite of his sandwich and looking on expectantly.

“Alright.”Al smiled amiably (he was much better at acting than his brother) and inhaled deeply, before making a notable show out of clearing his throat.Poised to begin, he cast another quick glance in his brother’s direction, and remarked offhandedly, “Did I mention I found my book?”

Ed’s eyes went wide, and his hands tensed on the table, but before he could give a response, Al commenced his recitation (with a suitable degree of dramatic presentation, of course):“The iron love that in my leg yet holds stead, and in my arm once held its steel court, into my heart seers fast your mind’s bright mark!” (1)

Ed quite literally lunged from his seat, racing toward Al, swiping at the paper in his hand.At the last moment, Al snatched it out of the way, holding it as high as possible above his head.Ed lashed out toward the sheet, jumping slightly, but Al managed to dodge the move, dancing past his brother back into the dining room.

“Is something wrong brother?”Al asked in feigned innocence, his grin broad and mischievous, darting to and fro to evade his brother’s recovery attempts.Al noted that Ed was being uncharacteristically quiet.Normally, he would be shouting passionately by this point.Al had a strong suspicion that the reason for this change had to do with the fact that the dining room was well within earshot of the workshop, where Pinako and Winry were both currently working.

“Where did you get that?”Ed hissed at Al, his voice low, but carrying the full ‘fury’ of the former Fullmetal Alchemist nonetheless.

“Why, from your room, of course,” Al replied merrily, sliding out of his brother’s reach once more.He was thoroughly enjoying himself at this point.If nothing else, he was savoring how much he was able to move, a testament to just how far his recovery had come. _Looks like the better part of two years’ work has paid off.I don’t think I would have been able to pull this off even a couple months ago.My body’s moving how I want it to! I feel free!_

Al couldn’t help but beam at his brother as a result of his inner contentment.Ed on the other hand, was bristling with a mixture of horror and irritation (as opposed to true rage, which he reserved for those who could be considered real enemies.The difference between the two might be difficult for some observers to perceive, but Al was adept enough when it came to reading his brother to know which was which).

“What the hell were you doing in my room Al?”Ed demanded, his voice still hushed.

“Retrieving the book you stole from me brother,” Al answered with little evident remorse, the brothers’ motions coming to a tense halt simultaneously, leaving them in a face-off of sorts.Ed glared Al down, while Al shot a full Cheshire grin back at him.

“I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it,” Ed corrected.

“Without asking,” Al pointed out.

“Well, we are brothers, what’s wrong with a little sharing?”Ed argued.The fatal flaw in his logic was abundantly clear.

“You’re right about that brother,” Al agreed wholeheartedly.“Which is why I didn’t think twice about ‘borrowing’ this poem of yours.”

Ed realized, too late, that he had set himself up for that one.“You know that’s not what I meant,” he spluttered.

“You really should have told me you were entering the world of the poet,” Al advised.“I would have been more than happy to give you a few pointers.”

“I don’t want your pointers!” Ed fumed, his ability to remain quiet being sorely tested.

“You sure about that brother?”Al grinned, about to deliver what he had dubbed his ‘final blow.’He held the sheet out in the air in front of him.“Because this is kind of rough.”

Ed saw what he thought was the perfect opportunity to reclaim his purloined poetry.Unfortunately, he didn’t stop to consider that Al might be baiting him.As a result, when he made a full-blown drive for the paper, and Al snapped it out of the way at the last moment, Ed ended up in a heap at his brother’s feet.He glared up petulantly at Al, who offered him a hand up in return.Begrudgingly, Ed took it, still shooting a look that said ‘I’m slightly considering murdering you over this’ at his younger sibling.

Once they were both back on their feet, Al held the page out toward his brother.Ed’s blinked, bemusement at the unanticipated peace offering setting in.

“I think I’ve read enough,” Al explained with a shrug.Wearily, Ed grabbed the page, and for a moment, considered making a hasty tactical withdrawal, before ultimately deciding it was too late for that to do any good.Instead, he collapsed back into his seat with a sigh.

“You think it’s terrible, huh?”He queried, his voice somewhere between incensed and dejected.

“Wellllll,” Al demurred temporarily, dropping back into his seat as well, “Not exactly terrible . . . just, a ‘work in progress.’”

Edward Elric didn’t pout.At least, that was what he told himself.Certain other individuals might say differently.And though technically, the expression he adopted couldn’t quite be called pouting, Al thought it was pretty damn close.

“So it’s pretty bad then?”

“Yep,” Al admitted with a chuckle.“I could help you though brother.If you wanted me to.I mean it.I’m not an expert or anything, but . . . I might be able to help you polish it up a bit.Or one of the others.”

“I don’t want your help,” Ed quickly retorted, before his alarm grew even more palpable as he processed the last piece of information.“You read them all?”

“Just a few actually.”

Ed looked visibly relieved.

“You know, brother, I never expected you to be so interested in writing sonnets.”

Ed’s face flushed deep crimson.“Errr, I wanted to try something new?”His explanation held about as much water as a bucket with the bottom torn out.

“Really?You sure these weren’t written for a specific reason?”Al pressed.By the looks of it, Ed’s ears might start spewing steam any second.“Just because,” Al added, “These are all love poems.”

This revelation had the very rare effect (and in this case, very rare meant ‘virtually unthinkable’) of rendering Edward Elric speechless.His lips flapped, but no coherent sounds emerged.An unprecedented development, to be sure.

“Because if you ask me, I’d say these were written for Winry,” Al continued.

That observation sent Ed over the edge.“Al, I swear, if you say anything to her, I will . . . I will . . . “ Ed whispered frantically, a sufficient threat (one which he would actually be willing to make good on if it came to it) escaping him.

Al raised an eyebrow.“You’ll what, brother?”He inquired good-naturedly.

Ed tossed his hands up in the air.“I’ll do something, okay?Just don’t tell her, alright?”

Al nodded in agreement to this.“Alright, I won’t.But I have two conditions.‘A,’ you have to answer a question for me, and ‘B,’ depending on what your answer to that question is, you have to hear me out on what I have to say.”

“Fine,” Ed assented reluctantly, thoroughly humiliated by this point.

“Good.Now, here’s the question: Are you writing poetry because you actually want to write poetry?Because if you are, that’s fine.I’d even say that’s a good thing.Expanding your creative horizons is important." Al paused, giving his brother a brief smile, before he continued, his expression morphing into one of concern. "Or, on the other hand, are you just writing poetry because you think it would be a good way to get out of having to say things out loud to Winry?”

Ed blinked helplessly, failing to even complain about the fact that Al had asked him two questions, because he lacked a good answer that didn’t confirm the latter hypothetical scenario.“What?”

“Well brother,” Al mused, “Based on what I read, it looks to me like you’re just trying to confess through a poem, so you don’t have to do it yourself.”

Ed gestured vaguely.“But those poems are me!So they still count!”

Al was more than a little dubious.“So you’re saying that is what you’re doing.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Ed retorted weakly, waving his hands about, “Because they’re my poems, so it still works!”

Al’s eyebrows arched dangerously high.“No, they’re not.That—“ he pointed at the page in Ed’s hands —“Isn’t you brother.It doesn’t sound anything like you.It sounds like you copying sonnets written hundreds of years ago, and then swapping in a few new words here and there.If you wrote a poem yourself, it would sound nothing like that.”

Ed looked thoroughly chagrined by this, and guilty enough that Al knew he was onto something.“I knew it,” he declared in an emphatic whisper.“That’s precisely what you did, isn’t it?”

Ed looked away, inspecting the kitchen with a withering stare, crossing his arms for additional effect.“Maybe,” he grunted sulkily.

Al rolled his eyes and rested an elbow on the table, leaning in to sit his chin on his hand.“Look brother, I’m not here to tell you what to do.But I can tell you that if you want Winry to take you seriously when you do admit how you feel—“ Al gave a purposeful cough here, “As if she doesn’t already know—“ another cough, “Then you better not do it through poetry.”

“And why’s that Al?”Ed asked, still looking away.

“Because,” Al replied firmly, “You’re many great things.But a poet is not one of them.And the reasons why Winry loves you—“ Ed’s head snapped back to stare at his brother in slight amazement at how easily he said this, as if it was some simple truth, “Because yes, it’s pretty clear she’s just as head over heels for you as you are for her, and you two both know it, but you’re both so stubborn that you two will keeping tip-toeing around it endlessly, because neither one of you wants to be the first one to come out and say it—“ Al took a deep breath here, before launching back in, “Are because of who you are.You know, you.Not some Aerugonian who died three hundred years before you were born.”Al paused for a second, before continuing, “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Winry is the type of person who is going to be impressed by some outdated, ‘noble’ ideas of love, even if you actually did write original poetry.”

Ed frowned, looking down to the table, his face still covered in a resilient blush.“Great, great,” he muttered.“Next you’re gonna tell me what I should do instead, huh?”He looked irritably back up at his brother.

Al shook his head.“I can’t tell you that brother.That’s definitely something you’ve got to figure out for yourself.But I can tell you this.It needs to be something that’s authentic to you.That’s true to who you are. . . or something else cliche like that.”He shrugged unhelpfully.“I'm no expert in the field. Just, whatever you do, don’t do it through poetry.Coming from you, that seems fake.Because it is fake.And that’s the last thing you want.”Al pushed himself up and out of his chair. 

Ed looked mildly perplexed.“Wow, thanks for the help,” he intoned, not entirely sarcastic.

“Don’t mention it,” Al replied, with substantially more sincerity.Without further ado, he made for the door.Ed was left alone, pondering his brother’s advice.

As it would happen, sometime later, when Ed finally did confess his feelings to Winry (somehow rolling a proposal of sorts into the mix along with it), it was not, thankfully, through poetry.To some extent, it did indeed follow Al’s advice.It was most definitely a product of Ed.In fact, it would be absolutely bizarre to think of it coming from just about anyone else.At the same time, had Al been able to foresee the exact form his brother’s eventual confession took, he might have made his advice just a bit more specific (perhaps more than a bit).After all, when he recommended Ed tell Winry how he felt in a way that was ‘real,’ and ‘sincere,’ he likely wasn’t anticipating that his brother would manage to conflate love and alchemy in the process.But that’s a different story altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everybody! Feel free to leave a comment, I always love feedback. :)
> 
> 1\. This particular poem of Ed's is based on "The Long Love That In My Thought Doth Harbor" by Thomas Wyatt. I figured it made sense to stick with the Petrarchan sonnet form (though, once again, Ed fails to really grasp the actual design of said form . . . but that's kind of the point xD).


End file.
